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taking any more notice of the gay crowd that was moving before him than of so many emmets on an anthill, or atoms dancing in the sun. This man the duke singled out as likely to be a fit object for a frolic. He began, therefore, by making some inquiry concerning him, and soon learnt, that he was an unfortunate, poor creature, who, having laid out his whole stock in the purchase of a commission, had behaved with great bravery in the war, in hopes of preferment, but, upon conclusion of the peace, had been reduced to starve upon half-pay. This the duke thought a favourable circumstance for his purpose; but he learned, upon further inquiry, that the captain, having a wife and several children, had been reduced to the necessity of sending them down to Yorkshire, whither he instantly transmitted them the moiety of his half-pay, which would not subsist them near London, and reserved the other moiety to keep himself upon the spot, where alone he could hope for an opportunity of obtaining a more advantageous situation. These particulars afforded a new scope for the duke's genius, and he immediately began his operation. After some time, when every thing had been prepared, he watched an opportunity, as the captain was sitting alone, busied in thought, to send his gentleman to him, with his compliments, and an invitation to dinner the next day. The duke, having placed himself at a convenient distance, saw his messenger approach without being perceived, and begin to speak without being heard: he saw his intended guest start, at length, from his reverie, like man frighted out of a dream, and
gaze with a foolish look of wonder and perplexity at the person that accosted him, without seeming to comprehend. what he said, or to believe his senses, when it was repeated to him. In short, he saw, with infinite satisfaction, all that could be expected in the looks, behaviour, and attitude of a man, addressed in so abrupt and unaccountable a manner; and, as the sport depended on the man's sensibility, he discovered so much of that quality, on striking the first stroke, that he promised himself success beyond his former hopes. He was told,
however, that the captain returned thanks for the honour intended him, and would wait upon his grace at the time appointed. When he came, the duke received him with particular marks of civility; and taking him aside, with an air of great secresy and importance, told him, that he had desired the favour of his company to dine, chiefly upon account of a lady who had long had a particular regard for him, and had expressed a great desire to be in his company, which her situation made it impossible for her to accomplish, without the assistance of a friend; that having learned these particulars by accident, he had taken the liberty to bring them together; and added, that he thought such an act of civility (whatever might be the opinion of the world) would be no imputation on his honour. During this discourse, the duke enjoyed a profound astonishment, and the various changes or confusion that appeared in the captain's face, who, after he had a little recovered himself, began a speech with great solemnity, in which the duke perceived he was labouring, in the best manner he could, to insinuate that he doubted whether he was not imposed upon, and whether he ought not to resent it; and, therefore, to put an end to his difficulties at once, the duke laid his hand
upon his breast, and very devoutly swore that he told him nothing that he did not believe, upon good evidence, to be true. When word was brought that dinner was served, the captain entered the dining-room with curiosity and wonder; but his wonder was unspeakably increased when he saw at the table his own wife and children. The duke had begun his frolic by sending for them out of Yorkshire, and had as much, if not more, * astonished the lady, than he had done her husband, to whom he took care she should have no opportunity to send a letter. It is much more easy to conceive than describe a meeting so sudden, unexpected, and extraordinary: it is sufficient to say, that it afforded the duke the highest entertainment, who, at length, with much difficulty, quietly seated them at his table, and persuaded them to eat, without thinking either of yesterday or to-morrow. Soon after dinner was over, word was
brought to the duke, that his lawyer attended about some business by his grace's order. The duke, willing to have a short truce with the various inquiries of the captain about his family, ordered the lawyer to be introduced, who pulling out a deed that the duke was to sign, vas directed to read it, with an apology to the company for interruption. The lawyer accordingly began to read, when, to complete the adventure, and the confusion and astonishment of the poor captain and his wife, the deed appeared to be a settlement which the duke had made upon them of a genteel sufficiency for life. Having gravely heard the instrument read, without appearing to take any notice of the emotions of his guests, he signed and sealed it, and delivered it into the captain's hand, desiring him to accept it without compliments; “ For,” says he, “I assure you, it is the last thing I would have done, if I thought I could have employed my money, or my time, more to iny satisfaction, in any other way.
THE CHEVALIER BAYARD.
In the war carried on by Louis XII. of France against the Venetians, the town of Brescia being taken by storm, and aban oned to the soldiers, suffered for seven days all the distresses of cruelty and avarice. No house escaped but where chevalier Bayard was lodged. At his entrance, the mistress, a woman of figure, fell at his feet, and deeply sobbing, “ Oh! my lord, save my life: save the honours of my daughters.
6. Take courage, madam,” said the chevalier; “ your life and their honour shall be secure while I have life.” The two young ladies, brought from their hiding-place, were presented to him; and the family, thus reunited, bestowed their whole attention on their deliverer. A dangerous wound he had received gave them opportunity to express their zeal; they employed a notable surgeon; they attended him by turn, day and night; and when he could bear to
be amused, they entertained him with concerts of music. Upon the day fixed for his departure, the mother said to him, “ To your goodness, my lord, we owe our lives, and to you all that we have belongs by right of war; but we hope from your signal benevolence that this slight tribute will content you,” (placing upon the table an iron coffer full of money). is What is the sum ?" said the chevalier. “My lord,"answered she trembling,
no more but two thousand five hundred ducats, all that we have; but more be necessary, we will try our friends." Madam,” said he, “ I never shall forget your kindness, more precious in my eyes than a hundred thousand ducats. Take back your money, and depend always on me.” My good lord, you kill me, to refuse this small sum; take it only as a mark of your friendship to my family. “Well,” said he, “ since it will oblige you, I take the money; but give me the satisfaction of bidding adieu to your amiable daughters." They came to him with looks of regard and affection.
“ Ladies," said he," the impression you have made on my heart will never wear out. What return to make I know not; for men of my profession are seldom opulent: but here are two thousand five hundred ducats, of which the generosity of your mother has given me the disposal. Accept them as a marriage present; and may your happiness in marriage be equal to your merit.'
6: Flower of chivalry!" cried the mother, “may the God who suffered death for us reward you here and hereafter.”
A FALSE ALARM.
Lewis BERTON DE CRillon, a gentleman of Avignon, was as remarkable on account of the peculiarities in his temper, as his intrepidity, which had procured him the name of Dreadnought. The duke of Guise, to whom he had been sent after the reduction of Marseilles, having a mind to try his courage, agreed with some gentlemen to give a sudden alarm before Crillon's quarters, as if
the enemy had been masters of the town. At the same time he ordered two horses to the door; and going up into Crillon's room, told him, all was lost; that the enemy were masters of the port and town; that they had forced the guards, and broke and put to fight all that opposed them; that, finding it impossible to resist them any longer, he thought it was better for them to retreat, than by suffering themselves to be taken, and add to the enemy's victory; that he had therefore ordered two horses to be brought, which were ready at the door, and desired he would make haste, for fear they should give the enemy time to surprise them. Crillon was asleep when the alarm was given, and was hardly awake whilst the duke of Guise was saying this to him. However, without being at all disconcerted by so hot an alarm, he called for his clothes and his arms, saying, they ought not, on too light grounds, to give credit to all that was said of the enemy; and, even if the account should prove true, it was more becoming men of honour to die' with their arms in their hands than to survive the loss of the place. The duke not being able to prevail on him to change this resolution, followed him out of the room; but, when they were got half-way down stairs, not being able to contain himself any longer, he burst out a laughing; by which Crillon discovered the trick that had been played him. He thereupon assumed a look much sterner than when he only thought of going to fight, and, squeezing the duke's hand, said to him, swearing at the same time (for he always begun his discourse with the most horrible oaths), “ Young man, never make it a jest to try the courage of a man of honour; for, by G-d! hadst thou made me betray any weakness, I would have plunged my dagger in thy heart;" and then left him without saying a word more.
THE EMPEROR INCOG. Tae late Emperor of Germany, passing one night along a street in Vienna, on one side of which runs a